The Hard Days
Funny how yesterday morning everything seemed golden, blessings everywhere I looked. Then the afternoon. . .nothing especially bad, nothing really good, just the quotidian, the ordinary stuff. But it was too much. My eyes glazed over--I lost the ability to see the joys, the God-gifts.
All I could see was a house that needed cleaning, clothes that needed washing, food that needed cooking, and children that needed attention. D was lethargic, rubbing his head like he does when he is in pain. He didn't eat much after-school snack either. His balance was off--several times when he did get up he nearly fell down the stairs, or in the garage, or walking in the yard. He couldn't tell me what was wrong. I took him to get his haircut (one of his MOST favorite things in the whole world to do) to get ready for inspection Thursday and that cheered him momentarily.
After supper, I bathed him because he had had an accident. I was heading toward self-pity, "the dark side": all I could see was how his hands were now mostly in a clenched position; he won't hold hands when saying the prayer at mealtimes because it's uncomfortable; physical decline, ravaging disease I can't control, eradicate or even name.
In chapter three of one thousand gifts, I just read a bit of dialogue, "When you don't have the name for something, you're haunted by shadows. it ages you." (p. 52) D's diagnosis of mitochondrial disease is tentative according to his neurologist. But I I cling to it as "it" because of the shadows--10 years of haunting can drive one mad. And then the line by CS Lewis a few pages later, "If you think of this world as a place intended simply for our happiness, you find it quite intolerable: think of it as a place of training and correction and it's not so bad." (p. 55).
My eyesight clears when I turned on the shower last night, D's smile as the water massaged his face, upturned, tiny rivulets streaming alongside his freshly shaven head, his entire face reveling in the blissful cleansing, was my one thousand gift #35: joy in a refreshing shower.
As I type, tears run down my face. Just moments before, that aging that comes from worry and stress was weighing heavily on my heart, my head, my eyes. But the salt tears refresh as well, my sight is cleared once more, ready for the"act of naming grace moments" (p. 59).
And now I can agree with Anne Voscamp: "And I see it now for what this really is, this dare to write down one thousand things I love. It really is a dare to name all the ways that God loves me. The true Love Dare. To move into His presence and listen to His love unending and know the grace uncontainable. This is the vault of miracles. The only thing that can change us, the world, is this--all His love."(p.59)
D's favorite song for a time was "All You Need Is Love" and I learned how to play it on the guitar to meet the demand. The Beatles had it nearly right. . .all we need is God's love--received as a gift through faith in the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus Christ. That's all I really need as I continue in this quest to name His love One Day, one moment, one blessing at a time. . .with a heart overrun by thanks.
All I could see was a house that needed cleaning, clothes that needed washing, food that needed cooking, and children that needed attention. D was lethargic, rubbing his head like he does when he is in pain. He didn't eat much after-school snack either. His balance was off--several times when he did get up he nearly fell down the stairs, or in the garage, or walking in the yard. He couldn't tell me what was wrong. I took him to get his haircut (one of his MOST favorite things in the whole world to do) to get ready for inspection Thursday and that cheered him momentarily.
After supper, I bathed him because he had had an accident. I was heading toward self-pity, "the dark side": all I could see was how his hands were now mostly in a clenched position; he won't hold hands when saying the prayer at mealtimes because it's uncomfortable; physical decline, ravaging disease I can't control, eradicate or even name.
In chapter three of one thousand gifts, I just read a bit of dialogue, "When you don't have the name for something, you're haunted by shadows. it ages you." (p. 52) D's diagnosis of mitochondrial disease is tentative according to his neurologist. But I I cling to it as "it" because of the shadows--10 years of haunting can drive one mad. And then the line by CS Lewis a few pages later, "If you think of this world as a place intended simply for our happiness, you find it quite intolerable: think of it as a place of training and correction and it's not so bad." (p. 55).
My eyesight clears when I turned on the shower last night, D's smile as the water massaged his face, upturned, tiny rivulets streaming alongside his freshly shaven head, his entire face reveling in the blissful cleansing, was my one thousand gift #35: joy in a refreshing shower.
As I type, tears run down my face. Just moments before, that aging that comes from worry and stress was weighing heavily on my heart, my head, my eyes. But the salt tears refresh as well, my sight is cleared once more, ready for the"act of naming grace moments" (p. 59).
And now I can agree with Anne Voscamp: "And I see it now for what this really is, this dare to write down one thousand things I love. It really is a dare to name all the ways that God loves me. The true Love Dare. To move into His presence and listen to His love unending and know the grace uncontainable. This is the vault of miracles. The only thing that can change us, the world, is this--all His love."(p.59)
D's favorite song for a time was "All You Need Is Love" and I learned how to play it on the guitar to meet the demand. The Beatles had it nearly right. . .all we need is God's love--received as a gift through faith in the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus Christ. That's all I really need as I continue in this quest to name His love One Day, one moment, one blessing at a time. . .with a heart overrun by thanks.
It's so easy for us to be overwhelmed by the little trivial things of our every day life. Thanks for sharing this, I too am trying to find joy and hope in the small things.
ReplyDeleteAnn Voskamp has a blog that is great too--for daily encouragement in finding joy in the small things. Miss you--it's not easy, is it? But worth it. . .eternally.
DeleteGinny, I got this through Kathryn Peacock, an old friend. I very much like your thoughts here. I am a Buddhist but my perspective is on gifts is very similar to yours. I would only add autism to your list for the moment. Love and kindness are very important in the big picture and "All you need is love" is a favorite hereabout.
ReplyDeleteJack, so glad you took time to read this and thanks to Mrs. Kathryn for sending you this way. I'm finding in parenting my eldest that empathy is the most direct route to kindness.
DeleteI needed this "pep talk" this morning, Ginny! Of course, I especially love the Lewis quote!
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading, Tammy. So glad you are getting settled in and things are going well for your family. Enjoy!
DeleteA "ravaging disease I can't control, eradicate, or even name" - as a mother this is the worst. Not being able to help, which is what we want most to do for our children. And D's latest diagnosis- I can completely understand your bad days, but you are so inspiring... in describing D's joy in the shower...in noticing the gifts around you despite the difficulties. Perfection is not what we think it is at all...but it does exist in the many small ways you point out.
ReplyDeleteSo true, Anne Katherine. Your comment reminds me of Kant's description of beauty that I studied in a course on the Sublime in grad school. He said that true beauty has to have a small defect. Perfect beauty is not Barbie doll flawlessness, but Venus de Milo's torso.
ReplyDelete